Knitting Mojo

Ebb and flow like the water at the bank of the river. Crashing over me in waves, crushing me to the core until I cast on a dozen new projects. Then it ebbs again, receding like my husband’s hairline, leaving me with nothing. Twiddling fingers; no thought or design to still them, yet, no string wrapped around my palm, laid over my index finger, twisting and turning as the stitches are made. It escapes me like a word I just had at the tip of my tongue, but can no longer recall.

This is where it has left me. Nil. Void. Projects sit unfinished, a hollow in the pit of my gut. Nothing calls out to me, begging me to knit and purl, cable and twist, rib and stitch. Dust collects on project bags. Needles feel like pin pricks on my fingertips, feel unnatural in my grip. The stitches I manage to force out have me roaring up in fight. And not for them, definitely against every motion of my hands.

Knitting is my relaxation. Knitting is my calm. Knitting is what keeps me from being idle or bored for too long. However, now, it is a stick in my side. Not enjoyable, not replenishing; feeling unfaithful as I look upon it and yearn for the days of joy.

ADD is usually not the culprit, as ADD is calmed and put in proper placement with the twiddling of sticks and string. Maybe I only need a break? But a break I fear because I know not how long it will be. I like a plan. No. I need a plan. I need the guidance of knowing what comes next, which item will start when the next one ends.

And, so, I push through. Fight the unsettled feeling, and knit a few stitches at a time. One round or two. Raglan increases, slipping stitch markers, marking off rows, watching the luxurious
 mohair sliding across my fingers. The joy is still not there. It feels more like a chore. I refuse to let my past time become a chore. So i wait. Then I try again.

Not today. Perhaps tomorrow. If not then, when? Hopefully soon.